


locked in, locked down

by ghostsoldier



Category: Bully: Scholarship Edition
Genre: Boarding School, Handcuffs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 03:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostsoldier/pseuds/ghostsoldier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Gord discovers that Jimmy drives a hard bargain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	locked in, locked down

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted in 2007.

Gord Vendome woke up and realized three things: first, he wasn't wearing a shirt. Secondly, the boy sprawled half on top of him was snoring. And third, he was handcuffed to said boy's wrist.  
  
This last was the most worrisome, all things considered.  
  
Upon further reflection, issues one and two were easily explained. The shirt had been removed in the heat of _passion_ , as it were, or if he were a little more accurate about it, by one extremely frustrated Jimmy Hopkins, who'd grumbled something to the effect of, "A sweater _and_ a shirt _and_ an undershirt? Are you freakin' kidding me?" before he'd effectively removed all three and sent them flying somewhere into the nether regions of his bedroom. If Gord lifted his head slightly, he could just make out his white Aquaberry button-down flung haphazardly over Hopkins' chair. He suppressed a sigh. _That_ was certainly going to wrinkle.  
  
Issue two tied in rather neatly with issue one. He was shirtless because he'd been rather _engaged_ with Jimmy Hopkins, and Jimmy Hopkins was the shirtless, snoring boy currently draped over his chest. He wasn't snoring loudly, for which Gord was thankful; they were rather the quiet little sleep-snuffles of someone who was deeply and profoundly asleep, which meant he’d been there rather longer than he'd intended. Which brought him to issue number three.  
  
The handcuffs.  
  
An experimental rattle of the chain confirmed that they were most certainly real, and what was more, they were most certainly not coming off. He tried sliding his hand through the bracelet, but to no avail. Nor was he able to slide the other bracelet over Jimmy's rather larger hand. It looked as though the cuffs were there to stay, which was, Gord decided, an unfortunate development. He nudged Jimmy's shoulder.  
  
"Jimmy."  
  
Jimmy, unhelpful boy that he was, didn't do anything except continue to snore.  
  
"James." A harder nudge. " _Hopkins_."  
  
"Ngggh." Jimmy stirred and blearily opened one eye. "What?"  
  
Gord wordlessly held up his handcuffed wrist. Some of the sleepiness cleared from Jimmy's expression, and he opened his other eye. "Oh," he said. "That."  
  
"Yes, _this_. Care to explain?"  
  
Jimmy flexed his shoulders in an abbreviated stretch and yawned. "I lifted 'em from a cop the last time I was hauled into the police station," he said. "You like 'em?"  
  
The police station. Goodness! Gord tried to suppress the little thrill that went up his spine at that particular revelation; now was _not_ the time for such things. "I meant," he said, "why are they attaching my wrist to yours?"  
  
"I'd planned to handcuff you to the bed," Jimmy said. He folded his arms over Gord's chest and rested his head on them, his forearms forming a makeshift pillow. He yawned again, a jaw-cracking one this time, and continued. "But I didn't have a headboard, so I improvised."  
  
"James!"  
  
The other boy's eyes had closed again, but now they snapped open once more, looking decidedly more irritated this time around. "What? It's four in the morning, Gord. Let a guy sleep already."  
  
"Why did you feel it necessary to handcuff me at all?" The hint of a whine had crept into Gord's voice, but _honestly_. He should've been back at Harrington House hours ago. "I swear, you're being obtuse on _purpose_."  
  
"Mm. Probably." Jimmy closed his eyes again. "I was getting tired of you sneaking out all the time after I fell asleep. It’s giving me a complex."  
  
"Oh, _James_." The other boy's tone had been humorous, teasing even, but even Gord could recognize the sentiment beneath it. He'd always been certain that Jimmy was asleep when he left, but now he wasn't so sure -- when he'd woken Jimmy up just a few minutes previous, that had been Jimmy asleep. All those times he'd observed his deep breathing and lack of movement when he'd quietly pulled on his shoes, perhaps Jimmy had merely been faking. "I'm not leaving because of anything _you're_ doing."  
  
"What, then? You too good to spend a whole night in the boy's dorm with the rest of us losers?"  
  
Again, there was that humorous-but-not tone in Jimmy's voice. How on earth had Gord missed this before? It bothered Jimmy that Gord was leaving each night, and that was so oddly sentimental, so _unlike_ him that he found himself wanting to vow that he would spend each night there in its entirety and _damn_ the consequences.  
  
Unfortunately, there was reality to consider.  
  
"Hardly," Gord said. "It's...all a bit complicated to explain, really."  
  
Jimmy's expression said: Try me. Gord sighed.  
  
"Derby pays the maid to check in on us,” he said finally. “Every night around 2:00 am, she peeks her head in, makes sure we're all accounted for. We don't have to be _asleep_ , you see, just present, and she reports back to Derby if any of us are missing."  
  
Jimmy stared at him.  
  
"Don't look at me like that! It's all very unsettling. He asks the most _pointed_ questions if you're unaccounted for, you know, and it's entirely uncomfortable, and...what?"  
  
"You're ditching me every night because Derby gets snippy? Are you kidding?"  
  
Gord frowned. "When you put it like _that_ , it sounds rather frivolous."  
  
"It is frivolous."  
  
"Well. _Perhaps_ it is, but you have to understand, Jimmy, Derby can be _very_ cutting and -- mmph!" Gord made a startled noise as one of Jimmy's hands snaked up and firmly covered his mouth.  
  
"Let's not talk about Derby anymore," Jimmy said. To Gord's (somewhat surprised) relief, the damnable smirk was back. And his eyes had gone all hooded again, which in his experience meant Jimmy was thinking utterly _wicked_ things, and...  
  
He carefully moved Jimmy's hand. "I _do_ wish you'd undo the handcuffs," he said.  
  
"Why should I? It's already past two, so it's not like spending the rest of the night here is going to kill you." The smirk widened into a full-fledged grin, and _damn_ Gord's libido for associating that grin with all manner of wonderful, _dirty_ things. He squirmed.  
  
"But. They _chafe_!"  
  
Jimmy started laughing. Gord swatted him lightly on the shoulder  
  
"Stop that! And I can see my shirt over there, just, just _thrown_ onto your chair, and it's getting _wrinkled_ , and I haven't the faintest idea where the rest of my clothes are, and...what?"  
  
Jimmy stopped laughing long enough to rub the remaining sleep from his eyes. "You're cute when you're whiny, you know that?"  
  
Gord' s mouth tightened. It was frightfully difficult to be irritated at Jimmy when he was looking at him like that, which made him all the more irritated. "I was _not_ being whiny."  
  
"Yes, you were. And it's cute. Embrace it."  
  
"I will do no such thing." He rattled their linked wrists and put on his most imperious voice. "Uncuff me."  
  
For half a moment, it looked as though Jimmy might consider it. His expression grew thoughtful and he drummed his fingers against Gord's chest in a reflective tattoo, and Gord was left to wonder if he was really that eager to be uncuffed -- after all, it meant he had to _leave_ , didn't it? -- but then Jimmy shifted suddenly and planted his elbows on either side of Gord's head, and leaned down until their noses were almost touching. He waited until he was sure he had Gord’s full attention, and then, very deliberately, he said, "No."  
  
O _ho_. Gord always did appreciate a challenge, especially if said challenge was half-naked, covered in freckles, and could do extraordinarily _sinful_ things with his tongue. There wasn't much room on Jimmy's tiny bed for grappling, but he thought they made adequate do, although there was a moment when Jimmy hooked his leg behind Gord's and flipped them, the end result being a very surprised Gord staring down at a rather smug Jimmy. He couldn't move -- in addition to the leg behind his knees, Jimmy had one arm tight around his waist, and there was always the matter of the handcuffs to consider -- but Gord _was_ on top, so...  
  
"Hold on," he said. It was dreadfully embarrassing how out of breath he was. They were hardly even exerting themselves, for goodness sake. He took some comfort in the fact that Jimmy seemed just as breathless as he was, and, if the pressure against his hip was any indication, just as excited. "Does this mean I'm winning or losing?"  
  
"Neither," Jimmy said, and laughed. "I don't even have the key on me."  
  
"What? Where on earth is it?"  
  
Jimmy gestured vaguely towards the bookshelves in the corner of the room. "I don't know. Somewhere over there. I wasn't paying attention."  
  
There was all manner of detritus in that corner, Gord noted, random books and papers and trophies, rolled up posters, a discarded spud gun, something that looked like an abandoned sock, which meant the key could be _anywhere_ in that mess. The proper emotions, he knew, would be ones of annoyance and irritation, perhaps some old-fashioned righteous anger at Jimmy's carelessness, but he was finding it profoundly more and more difficult to be mad about such things. He suspected it had something to do with the way Jimmy was touching him. Or, to be more accurate, the way Jimmy was _petting_ him, stroking one hand up and down his bare back like he was caressing a large and extremely wealthy housecat. Gord arched.  
  
"Are you mad?" Jimmy said. His mouth touched the hollow of Gord's throat.  
  
"Mm. No."  
  
The flare of tongue, the scrape of teeth. A firm hand in the small of his back. "Do you still want to leave?"  
  
Never. Never, _ever_. "Not especially."  
  
"Good." There was a click, and Gord turned his head to stare stupidly at his now handcuff-free wrist. The key, tiny for something so important, dangled from Jimmy's fingers.  
  
"How--?"  
  
"I lied," Jimmy said. He looked far, far too smug for Gord's liking. Delightful, damnable boy. "It was in my pillowcase."  
  
"Oh, you _wicked_ thing!" Gord said. Scandalized and gleeful, he set about wiping the smirk from Jimmy's face, and he did so very, very thoroughly.


End file.
